


A Rainy Day

by Serade



Series: War [1]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alternate Universe - War, Domestic Fluff, Hurt, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:21:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5342225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serade/pseuds/Serade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a Rainy Day. The weather should clear up soon if the radio is to be believed, but the skies would have all reason to keep crying.<br/><a href="http://seradeposts.tumblr.com/post/134451931823/a-rainy-day">Also on Tumblr</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rainy Day

**Author's Note:**

> Wow... So, uh, this started out as a piece of fluff, but damn it took a turn as I kept going. I blame good Irish folk music.

It is a rainy day. The drops are drumming against the windows in a rapid beat, but yet the two sleeping inside will not be roused. The clock has yet to ring and wake them. One will not get up for another six hours, while the other is about to.

Laxus works evenings. Freed works days. Some would say that makes it complicated, but they don’t agree. They are content, lying near each other like this, just an arm touching under the covers to make sure the other is still there, is still close.

The alarm goes off, beeping in complaint, and the green haired man yawns to greet the day. Turning the clock off, he gets up, pulls on the clothes he put out the evening before and grabs the gym bag. Dropping it by the door for now, he lazily stalks into the kitchen.

This room meant so much. Because of their schedules, they don’t see each other much during the weeks, but with prepared meals he shows his love to the blonde each and every day.

He puts on music. He has grown so used to it now, always accompanying his man. The blonde can’t deal with the quiet. It makes him uneasy. It has been that way ever since that battle, since he had experienced the ghostly silence that came before.

With the comforting noise in the background, Freed makes breakfast for two and takes his own share out into the winter garden. He watches the sky slowly brighten as he eats. A cup of hot tea follows the food, and he sighs in relaxation as the first rays of sun hit his face.

Beyond the glass façade is their lovely garden. Soon, the strawberries will be ripe and they will be able to harvest the first ones. It is his favourite berry and their friends love it when they bring a basked to share.

It is time to leave.

Putting his dishes away, he heads for the door. One more peek at the blonde slumbering in the next room and he whispers his goodbye before heading out.

A last clicking noise indicates he has locked around his sleeping beauty, making sure he is safe.

  


Beep, beep, beep, another clock complains and Laxus grumbles, turning the alarm off.

He stumbles out of bed and into the shower, letting hot water run over his shoulders and wake him. Taking the wrong shampoo bottle, he opens the cap and smells it. It smells of the other. It smells like home. He had missed this so much, but now he was here again at long last.

Washing with his own choice, he finishes up and towels off before getting dressed and walking along the hallway into the dining room. Of course, his wonderful man has left a plate of breakfast for him, setting the protective cover over it so it will stay fresh until he awakes.

Picking the plate up and taking a cup of coffee, he flops down on the couch and turns on the TV. The news anchor talks about some irrelevant debate and then goes on to report about the war. All do they talk as though there are news, but it is still the same. More soldiers and civilians injured and killed, more brothers in arms sent in. Nothing changes.

Turning the TV off, he sighs. Many will die overseas and out of them that will return, most are not as fortunate as him, having a home this warm and perfect to return to. Running a hand over the scar marking half his face, he shakes his head.

Getting up, he washes the dishes. He might not be able to cook, but he can show his love this way instead, by making sure their home is as tidy as the finicky man wants it to be.

Taking his own gym bag, he heads out and locks the door to their little piece of heaven.

  


A key rattles and the door lock turns anew. Freed is back.

He changes into casual slacks and hangs his gym clothes aside. Walking into the kitchen, he prepares to cook, taking out the ingredients and sharpening the knife. It is very meditative and he enjoys it, creating the best meals he can manage for himself and his love. He listens to the radio in the meantime, following the debates and reports.

Still, drops of water drum on the windows. The skies are crying, as they have every reason to in these times.

The clouds should clear up in the next few days. If the forecast is right, they should be able to go down to Sciliora and take a walk at the beach as Laxus always used to love to do. He hopes the blonde still does, even after everything he has been through. He has changed, a lot. Of course he has. How could he possibly not?

The radio chatter continues and Freed stops, turns the oven off, sets the spatula aside. He turns the volume up and waits, listens as the names are listed. Everyone does the same at this hour if they can, standing in silence and waiting to hear who had fallen, who is missing.

So he waits, hoping with shallow breath that nothing familiar will be named. It never happens, but the fear is there. It is likely this time.

It had been weeks since the last letter. For each one, they seemed to become more influenced by the propaganda. It was sad, but maybe they needed to believe it in order to fight for it. How could he possibly judge that?

“Magnolia Town and the surrounding area.”

He tenses involuntarily. It won't happen. Surely not. There were many others that it could be about.

“Adle, Vincent.”

“Allen, Jacob.”

Poor bastard. He knew the man. This was going to be rough on the wife. They even have a child together, a mere five years old. He should swing by and offer his condolences later, offer his help. They have to stick together in these times.

“Dodson, Tomas.”

“Doe, Bickslow.”

Sitting down, he takes a long breath. There it was. He swallows hard. It is not yet the time to let sorrow to take over. There are more names to go and he almost holds his breath.

“Doe, Evergreen.”

That is when he breaks down.

Both of them.

Why both of them?

  


Laxus knows the door isn't locked when he comes home. His love is already here, as always.

Entering and dropping his bag, he doesn't have to ask to know something isn't right. Freed does not greet him. Slowly edging froward, he is ready for anything. He leans into the kitchen carefully, finding no immediate danger.

The beautiful green haired man sits at the table, his head in his arms and the slow steady breaths making it clear he is sound asleep. The food sitting on the counter unprepared worries him greatly.

It had happened, hadn't it?

Swallowing hard, he approaches. He lifts the other as softly as he can, carrying him to the bed and laying him down so he may rest properly. Making sure his love is tucked in and won't get cold, he pulls away and heads back out.

Hurrying down the street, he pays the boy standing at the corner and with dread flips through the thin sheets of the newspaper.

Yes.

It had.

Both of them.

He stalks back slowly, tossing the paper onto the table before reaching for the bottle. It is first hours later that he realises time as passed, that the sun has disappeared again. Picking the still raw food from the stove, he clumsily puts it back. His appetite is gone either way.

He slowly drags his feet to the bedroom, making an effort to stay upright on the way. There he lies, his angel, his reason. He looks so peaceful in the dim light, eyes closed and relaxed.

At least there is still them.

Quietly creeping into bed beside the man, he feels the warmth of the other's body. Without even really waking up, Freed shifts, cuddles closer, makes sure he is there, and he in turn wraps his arm around the beauty protectively.

Closing his eyes, he allows for sleep to take him, and hopes the world outside will stay for one more day, that the warning sirens won't sound this night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by the stories my grandmother tells of the war and the letters of a distant relative that had to serve in the Wehrmacht during WWII. His letters stopped and then he was listed, declared missing and most probably dead. It's pretty dark stuff to read and you can clearly see the change in him as time passes.


End file.
